


whichever way you grow

by Crowned_Ladybug



Series: carrot soup [2]
Category: Half Life VR But The AI Is Self-Aware
Genre: 5+1 But The Author Can't Count as described by Dima, Developing Relationship, Domestic Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Intrusive Thoughts, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Team as Family, Trauma, not detailed but multiple scenes could maybe be interpreted as such so jic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-23
Updated: 2020-12-23
Packaged: 2021-03-10 18:22:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28261578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowned_Ladybug/pseuds/Crowned_Ladybug
Summary: But instead of getting angry or leaving and telling on Benrey to Feetman Senior, the kid gets up and runs off to the other end of the living room. Before Benrey knows it, he’s back, carrying another box. Another board game.Really not a good idea, based on various Benrey Statistics.The kid dumps the contents of the box on the ground without any fanfare and-Oh. It’s checkers. Benrey can play checkers. Sure. Yeah. He can do that.---A year and then some in Benrey's life, one season at a time.
Relationships: Benrey & Bubby & Tommy Coolatta & Dr. Coomer & Gordon Freeman, Benrey & Gordon Freeman, Benrey/Gordon Freeman
Series: carrot soup [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2070354
Comments: 29
Kudos: 264





	whichever way you grow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bee_bro](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bee_bro/gifts).



> Title from Dima destroying my feelings in my DMs:
>
>> (wakes up) scene where gordon says benrey's perfect the way he is and then immediately takes it back and says nvm you aren't but i love you like this and will love you whichever way you grow and improve but also i know there are still orange peals stuck in our living room lamp because you tossed them up there and now can't retrieve them cause that would mean unscrewing the entire lamp and we're not doing that with you just floating, that's gonna need a ladder and i can't be bothered enough to get that out of the garage a- are you crying?
> 
> Reading the other fic already in this series isn't necessary to understand this one, but I do very self-indulgently reference at least one thing about it in this, bc i cannot be stopped
> 
> Kinda yeeted off the face of the earth in the middle of writing this bc I ended up in the Hell Health Pit for two weeks, but it's finally done 👀 I had a blast writing it anyway
> 
> Dedicated to Dima, for all the Big Cool Ideas and Good Talks and also as a thanks for being so patient with me when my health started doing its thing again

1.

Spring goes okay. Or, well, like not much. Neutral. Days pass. More days pass. Benrey clocks in and out of work, watches over soulless corridors, goes back to his dorm room after work to play video games, then goes to work again. Rinse and repeat and rinse and repeat and-…

And then some fucking Cascades decide to Resonate or whatever, and it all goes to shit.

Benrey isn’t sure how long he’s been alive for at this point because he doesn’t like maths and also numbers, but the week that follows is easily one of the worst he’s ever had. In his whole life. That may or may not have a bunch of numbers in it.

It’s interesting. They almost bring about the end of the world, probably. They _definitely_ bring about some aliens. Or, well, _more_ aliens than previously present in Black Mesa. They get to shoot a lot of guns and make a lot of noise and drink a lot of soda, and they kind of destroy Wikipedia.

It also fucking _sucks_.

Benrey dies, and they don’t even invite him to the birthday party.

  
  


2.

There isn’t much to remember about summer.

  
  


3.

Very little of what Benrey has managed to learn about how to handle adult humans applies when dealing with small humanlings, as it turns out.

For example, this one doesn’t seem to mind having been called “a bit shit” at some point. He also doesn’t seem to mind Benrey in general, which is a deviation from the norm that Benrey isn’t sure how he feels about just yet.

He _does_ seem to mind _greatly_ that Benrey doesn’t understand the rules of the board game laid out on the carpet, and there’s only so much Benrey can do about that when the instructions are long gone and he has no idea what Feetman’s Genetical Sequel is trying to communicate to him about it. He didn’t know humans could talk with their _hands_. Or that other humans _understood_ that.

Is this another one of those weird human things no one’s told him about until it became very awkward that he didn’t spawn it in for himself when taking up this form? Like finding eye contact to not be horribly stressful? Or last names? Or a liver?

He only knows like one hand gesture that has Meaning and if he used that, then Feetman would surely kill him. Again.

It wasn’t fun the first time, so Benrey would rather not have a second go at it.

The humanling (his name is Joshua, Benrey reminds himself and then promptly ignores it) puffs a frustrated sigh when Benrey still doesn’t get whatever he’s trying to say. Benrey’s gotta admit that he likes that. Very expressive. _Way_ more expressive than a lot of the grown humans Benrey has had to deal with in the past.

Well, as far as he can remember anyway. His memory is kind of soup sometimes. Always has been, but it’s been worse since he respawned.

After, y’know, getting his ass kicked thoroughly.

It took him two months to come back, as it turns out. He didn’t exactly count his days gathering his essence in the void. Building consciousness, all that. There aren’t exactly days _to count_ in the void in the first place, so whatever. He hung out. Built himself a new little Lego castle of Benrey.

And then someone stepped on the fucking Lego. Or something. This metaphor is running away with him quickly.

He respawned and then, uhh. Nothing. For a while.

He couldn’t remember fuck all, for starters.

He was just a Benrey, waking up in the middle of a park in a city that was _definitely_ not in the middle of the desert, though back then he didn’t even know _why_ that was important. He just woke up and...existed. Hung out. Got really bad at taking care of himself and eating and sleeping and all that junk. He can’t exactly die from only _that_ , but his body sure didn’t appreciate him for it.

Other people didn’t appreciate him either, but that’s just the usual.

So he hung out like that for a month or so. Wandering around. Making friends with stray cats. Collecting his memories bit by bit until he understood why he felt the need to noclip his hand into every soda machine when no one was looking, and why the white coats of pharmacists drew him in, and why his heartbeat would pick up every time he caught glimpse of something orange out of the corner of his eye.

And why he was alone, despite all that.

Tommy was the one who found him. Good old Tommy. And then things got kind of messy after that.

All reasons why Benrey doesn’t like thinking of whatever he does remember of the summer. It’s all just ugly memory soup. Not soup like good food soup but soup like Minecraft lava. Hurts to touch. Gotta dig too deep to get to it. Doesn’t even glow all cool, so the metaphor is going to shit again.

Feetman’s baby-child-humanling-sequel pushes the board game out of the way and Benrey’s heart clenches in his chest. Great going, dumbass. Ruined the little dude’s fun because you can’t talk hands or whatever.

(He’s _working on it_ , but he hasn’t even made it through the alphabet yet.)

But instead of getting angry or leaving and telling on Benrey to Feetman Senior, the kid gets up and runs off to the other end of the living room. Before Benrey knows it, he’s back, carrying another box. Another board game.

Really not a good idea, based on various Benrey Statistics.

The kid dumps the contents of the box on the ground without any fanfare and-

Oh. It’s checkers. Benrey can play checkers. Sure. Yeah. He can do that.

The plan checks out until his hand is grabbed and he freezes.

_When did the humanling get so close._

(Kid. Joshua. We’ve been over this, come on.)

The kid seemingly notices nothing of Benrey’s heightened panic (okay, so maybe he’s been lowkey panicking all this time. _All this time_ being the past, like, two months. But now it’s gotten _worse_ ) and presses a handful of the light checkers pieces into his hand. He’s smiling even though Benrey definitely isn’t, and nods to himself with satisfaction when Benrey’s fingers automatically close around the pieces.

Benrey scoots back a good two feet the moment the kid lets go of his hand.

(He can’t let people get close to him. Not _anyone_. Not because _they’ll_ hurt _him_ , but because _he’ll_ hurt _them_.

This applies maybe especially strongly to Joshua, who keeps getting dangerously close to him all the time. Rarely enough to actually _touch_ , his dad has at least taught him _that_ , but still too close. Like he’s not playing with fire and death every time he does that.

Benrey wonders what they’re teaching kids these days. No one’s ever taught _him_ anything, but he still knows that you shouldn’t poke the monster.

Doesn’t mean he won’t do it anyway, but he can respawn. The kid can’t. None of these people around him can.)

The kid takes the sudden extra distance between them with grace and walks back around to nudge the board closer to Benrey. Benrey tenses at the distance between them shortening again. This is fine. He can handle this. He can focus on the board and the game and nothing else that’s in his head.

“uhh, I, yeah,” he says, real coherent, when the kid starts pointing out the light squares to him with a determined expression. He plops a piece down to every square the kid’s finger leaves. “I know how to play this one. thanks, though.”

The kid beams at him, which is just a wholly irrational response to _anything_ about Benrey. This one really got passed down the genes of the survival skills, huh. Except not, because Benrey is the only one here who has actually _died_. Feetman is just clumsy. Can’t even regenerate limbs when they get cut- _no no no no no, don’t think about that, don’t_ -

“Oh hey, what are you guys up to?”

_Oh shit._

Benrey scrambles back from the checkers board like he’s been burned, even as Gordon gives him a strange look for it. Doesn’t matter. Safety first, opinions of various Feetmen second.

Being near _one_ of them is one thing. Benrey can just focus on the checkers pieces, it’s fine. Two of them is so, _so_ much worse. Gordon is drawn to his kid like a magnet, humans are just _like that_ , and the two of them is too much. Too close. Too many weak points, and Benrey knows what it feels like to have blood on his hands, fresh and dry both, he knows what it sounds like when someone screams in pain because _he’s getting his fucking hand cut off-_ …

No. No. Stop that. Think about checkers pieces and, uhh. Heavenly Sword. Heavenly Sword is good. Safe. Fun. There’s no Benreys in Heavenly Sword.

He’s brought back to the present by the sound of a foghorn and some muffled protests. He swallows back the Sweet Voice that’s been burning acidic at the back of his throat since this morning. Or since he first set foot in this house.

The kid’s got his tablet back, so that’s good. Whatever troubleshooting it had needed is apparently over now. Communications should go smoother again until Benrey learns the hand language.

“Joshie, that’s rude!”

The kid just beams up at his dad and plays the foghorn sound again. Benrey likes his sense of humour.

“yo. we playing or what?”

“We were-...oh, nevermind.”

A frustrated Feetman. Good. Familiar. Benrey can deal with a frustrated Feetman much, much better than he can with one that’s polite and kind and lets him be around his kid and who Tommy could somehow convince to let Benrey live with him, saying it’d do them both good.

(As if that could ever be right. Benrey is giving this arrangement a month in terms of lifespan at best. A traumatised guy who rightfully should be fucking _pissed_ , said guy’s small, vulnerable kid, and the monster that almost killed said guy, hurt him bad, could do it again if he just slips up – not a good combo. _Really_ not a good combo.

No matter how much they try to work through their issues and how much better Gordon understands now what had happened with Benrey back then and no matter how patient he and everyone else are. No matter how much Benrey tries to be something other than a monster.

It’s never gonna work. It’s not safe.)

“Checkers!” the kid’s TTS tablet supplies helpfully, and that alone is enough to get Gordon looking away from Benrey and smiling down at his son. Good. The way things should be.

“you’re on, little man,” he says then, so of course that ruins the moment, but what is he here for if not that?

(He’s not sure.)

Benrey isn’t outstanding at checkers, per se. He’s average. He manages. He’s played it a few times, seen it played a bunch more. The break room he used to be stationed closest to back in Black Mesa had a checkers board. Old and used enough that no one knew anymore who had brought it in, if anyone did. Maybe it had been there since the dawn of time or something. Most of the original pieces had been lost to time, replaced by bottlecaps, differentiated by white masking tape and black whiteboard marker scribbles.

Having watched others play while he stood motionless by the vending machines on his breaks, on days when he forgot to bring along his PSP, has left him with enough knowledge to use against a humanling. Not so much against a grown human who plays too many strategy games, but he damn _tries_.

“What the hell, man, that’s-...that’s not how the game works,” Feetman snorts. His son is sitting on his lap now, having happily given up his position of playing against Benrey a few games ago.

It’s not _Benrey’s_ fault that Feetman is a competitive fucking commentator who’s just been itching to get his ass kicked at checkers, apparently.

“maybe not for you, little uhh, little baby loser man,” with that, he replaces the dark piece he’s just plucked off the middle of the board with one of his own previously dead light ones. “see, that one was a spy. impostor. uhh, chocolate coin secret service.”

The kid plays a slide whistle sound effect on his tablet, apparently delighted by this development. He’s been using that a lot over these games, particularly when his dad has lost pieces, and holy shit does Benrey appreciate him for it.

Gordon laughs again, choking out an “oh, yeah?” and that’s all the encouragement Benrey needs to keep talking.

“maybe you should’ve read the rules, huh? the manual?” it’s Gordon’s turn and neither of them care. “little loser no-readman. never listens. nuh-uh. doesn’t even know the rules to the uhh, the great coat button wars. what are they teaching nerds these days.”

Gordon is still grinning, laughing, and Benrey will ride that high while it lasts. Draw it out. Keep making his stupid jokes while they still have effect, while his brain is finally overlooking the topic of how much danger he poses to these people who have chosen to allow him into their home. He doesn’t think about pain and gunfire and fighting tooth and nail against a fate he could never escape. It’s just laughter and stupid jokes that make less and less sense the longer he carries on, just like old times.

Just like old times, when they’d look at the worst situations and have no choice but to laugh. When things got so dire Benrey couldn’t think to do anything but run off on a nonsense tangent until the Science Team around him were grinning and laughing. Especially Gordon. Always especially Gordon.

Just like old times of poking experiments they didn’t understand just for a change of pace, and racing down corridors for a momentary rush that they didn’t care if they paid for in the next fight, and going to sleep pretending it was nighttime under buzzing neon stars and a concrete moon.

Just like old times.

_Oh no._

“betcha little tazos are leaving, uhh, leaving 1-star yelp reviews on your ass, you’re just-”

He snaps his mouth shut so fast it _clicks_.

It’s like a trance is broken. Gordon’s smile falls, and it doesn’t matter that he looks away from Benrey, because Benrey already isn’t looking at him. He’s looking anywhere else and thinking about checkers, only checkers, not blood and violence and the monster that lives under his skin and won’t leave no matter how hard he tries. He thinks about checkers and Heavenly Sword and how weird his helmet fits on his head now that his hair is short.

(Tommy had given him a clumsy haircut in the bathroom, when he was still staying with Tommy. He’s not a fan of taking off his helmet, so he doesn’t do it often. At some point Tommy had caught him without it anyway, but that’s kind of okay, because if there’s someone out there who’d get to see that, it might as well be Tommy.

Benrey didn’t much care, but according to Tommy, his hair had to be cut. No other way around it. It was so ruined and dirty and _matted_ that they would’ve lost whole combs in it and come out no better.

Benrey has never cared much about his hair, but seeing the tangled black mess covering the off-white tiles of Tommy’s bathroom had made him feel some kind of vulnerable anyway.)

“Yeah, uhm,” Gordon clears his throat, and it feels so loud all of the sudden.

“your turn.”

_Don’t look at him, don’t look at either of them, think about checkers, think about-_

“Oh, yeah, right,” he picks a move randomly. Not smart anymore. Not tricking. Not invested in the game like he’d been moments ago.

Not even the kid and his funny voice TTS have anything to add this time.

They wrap up the game soon enough. Gordon wins, but he doesn’t cheer about it. Doesn’t tease Benrey. Doesn’t really do anything, really.

Benrey walks out into the garden through the wall and stays there for a while.

  
  


4.

Benrey isn’t sure yet how he feels about this whole cold weather thing, but he has to admit that the aesthetic of breathing little clouds is nice. Even nicer when he adds some Sweet Voice to it for colour. Just subdued beeps without meaning, but enough to colour the little clouds of vapour before they dissipate.

Fresh snow crunches underfoot as their group walks out farther than most care to, to get a little privacy and a little quiet. There’s fireworks going up already, still half an hour to midnight, and not all of them appreciate the noise. Gordon says it’ll get worse after midnight too, and it reminds them all of gunfire a little too much.

Benrey turns his hearing back up from 25% to maybe 50% or so when he guesses they’re far enough away that he’ll manage. The popping of fireworks still comes in distant enough that above it he can concentrate on the conversation and the sounds the snow makes under all their boots.

He sings another meaningless string of Sweet Voice when a firework catches his eye and he likes the colour of it. He turns around when he hears a whistle, sees Joshie grinning at him from his VIP seat upon his dad’s shoulders. The kid whistles again to show his appreciation of Benrey’s “magic trick”, and Benrey smiles back tentatively, though he doesn’t sing another tune.

Just in case. Strangers could still be too close.

He doesn’t get to think about that too much before a snowball hits him in the face so hard it knocks him on his ass.

“whuh?”

“That’s what you get for standing around, fucker!” Bubby supplies, grinning, like that’s any reason to be terrorising people, and especially _Benrey_ , when everyone else is _also there_. He’s already making his next snowball, and then Coomer shoves a handful of snow of his own down the back of his coat, and the poor snowball falls victim to the stampede of Bubby trying to get revenge.

Benrey scrambles to his feet belatedly and immediately leans down to get some ammo of his own.

With the late hour and the occasion when time just seems to _move wrong_ , even for those of them who have never had a New Year’s Eve before, full of this half-manic, tired kind of joy, it doesn’t take much for a short-lived snowball fight to break out.

Tommy has amazing aim, horrible impulse control, and a Perfect Dog, and these three things combine into him getting tossed into a snowpile by Coomer and then his face covered in Sunkist-kisses (Sunkisses?) while he’s on the ground and helpless to do anything about it. Bubby returns to targeting Benrey, no holds barred, except _yes_ holds barred, because Bubby may not be a fragile old man but Benrey is a fucked up alien monster, so he keeps his distance, just in case. It’s not like he has much of a job anyway when Bubby successfully takes himself out by running head-first into Darnold without looking.

Gordon takes it upon himself to do nothing but supply high quality ammunition for his son to target anyone who gets close enough to them, so Benrey definitely keeps his distance from _them_. He can’t take any chances on ruining their fun. Or worse.

(The months since he’s come back have not been nearly enough to forget just how easy it is to hurt a human.)

At least from the way Gman is standing not two steps’ distance away from them, Benrey dares hope that there’s currently nothing that exists in this world that could even come close to harming them. Which is good. Perfect, even. Benrey might be nothing but an ugly thorn in Gman’s side, but he respects the man. Fears him, if he’s really honest.

Appreciates him, too, not just as a friend’s dad but also as someone with a rather similar mission statement to his own.

(He’s spent enough nights staring holes into the darkness, turning his hearing up as far as it’d go until he couldn’t tell white noise from real anymore, to know that he’d rather die a hundred times over again than let anything happen to these people. And if the threat he has to protect them from is _himself_ , then, well-

No. Not now. Stop that.)

None of them notice the increase in firework activity, nor how much time has passed until someone quietly clears their throat and it somehow cuts through all of their noise nonetheless.

“I do. Believe. That it. Is almost. Midnight.”

Tommy beams like he could hear something more than just his father’s usual monotone, and scrambles out of his third snowpile landing zone for the day. “Oh! So, so it’s almost time, then!”

They gather themselves, dusting off their coats and knees and hair. Coomer picks up Joshie, if only to keep him from asking his father for it. Sunkist runs a circle around them like she’s modelled after a herder instead of a hunting dog, and promptly sticks her wet nose into Benrey’s bare palm on her second pass. Bubby rolls up his puffy sleeve just enough to check his watch, but in the end it proves to be needless when they can hear strangers begin shouting their countdown, prompting them into their own.

“10!”

Joshie doots with his trumpet in place of every number. Gman’s voice, however level and monotone, is still heard crystal clear over the shouting.

“9!”

“8!”

“7!”

“6!”

Tommy bounces with every number, one hand clutching Darnold’s. Sunkist barks to each, her own countdown. It’s like Bubby is trying to shout over everyone else just for the sake of doing it, and maybe if he wasn’t holding Joshie, Coomer would be right there with him.

“5!”

“4!”

“3!”

This is not tradition most of them are overly familiar with. Some of them have never done this before, stood in the snow watching fireworks and counting down to an arbitrary moment in time. And yet, it sweeps Benrey up in its momentum, with tired, giddy warmth swelling in his chest, his voice rising more and more with each number shouted into the light-polluted, colourful skies.

“2!”

When he looks up at Gordon standing next to him, he finds him grinning, face flushed and eyes bright, and not for the first time he wishes he could freeze time and live in this moment forever.

“1!”

Their disjointed chorus of new year’s wishes, barking, trumpet shrieking and just overall _yelling_ does little to breach the noise of strangers doing much the same and the barrage of fireworks being set loose back on the streets. Benrey turns his hearing down again but still laughs, head thrown back and grinning at the sky as he sings out a long string of orange Sweet Voice.

Tommy gets his New Year’s kiss. After a hug and an appropriate wish of a happy new year, Joshie is set back down on the ground and he books it for his father’s legs. Soon after, Benrey gets tackled into the snow at full velocity by a hollering Coomer.

He laughs a startled line of Sweet Voice, too lost in the moment to think about hiding it, and returns the favour, scrambling to his feet and sending Coomer flying. He’s the only one Benrey dares to roughhouse with. With everyone else, there’s too much that could happen if he couldn’t control his own strength.

Greetings and hugs go around as needed and as is appropriate until everyone’s had their fill. Benrey gets picked up and spun around by Tommy, and later shares an awkward hug with Joshie that’s entirely on _him_ , because he doesn’t think he’ll ever stop feeling anxious around someone so tiny and fragile and _human_. Bubby slaps Gman’s back hard enough to send a normal person flying and is instead left laughing and shaking out the pain. Sunkist tackles at least three people into snow again.

Benrey looks up when he feels weight fall around his shoulders, but he doesn’t get to say anything before there’s a hand on his head, ruffling his hair in the stupidest, most ineffective way, considering _he’s wearing a fucking hat, what the fuck_. He makes no attempt to push it away anyway.

“Happy new year, man,” Gordon laughs once his hand drops and Benrey grimaces at him, trying to fix his hat.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he grumbles, mostly for show and because having Gordon’s arm still around his shoulders is eliminating a significant portion of his ability to form sentences. But then he flicks his eyes up to look at Gordon’s face, and he has to look away again immediately because what the fuck is he smiling like _that_ for, all soft and shit, like he’s looking at something nice when he clearly _isn’t_ \- anyway, he, uhh, he might as well be nice back then. “and, uhh. you too.”

Real fucking eloquent tonight.

It seems good enough for Gordon though, because he laughs again, a little bit (he laughs so much more now and Benrey will never stop marvelling at that, he’ll never stop thinking about it) and squeezes Benrey closer into his side. Benrey counts the seconds until he loosens his hold again. He needs to know how long he’s allowed to have this.

(Four seconds. He slots each of them into his chest to keep them there forever.)

The world keeps moving, and at the end of the day, it’s not a bad thing. The fireworks are pretty, even if loud, and they draw away Benrey’s attention until he forgets that Gordon is still standing next to him, because he’s too busy singing over them and mimicking their colours. When Gordon gets hit with a snowball in challenge, sent with love from Bubby, the absence of his arm around Benrey’s shoulders only hurts a little bit.

And then Benrey gets a whole armful of snow dumped on his head by Tommy, and suddenly that ache doesn’t really matter anymore, as he launches into the fray. When Joshie hits him with a snowball, he goes down wailing, putting on a show just to see the kid laugh.

They ring in the new year like they do most other things – laughing and yelling and utterly chaotic.

(Together through it all.)

  
  


5.

Benrey knows what time of the year it is. He knows the fucking date. He’s been checking the calendar on the kitchen wall every time he passes by it for a week now, to make sure he’d know. He may be unobservant and have a bad relationship with numbers, but he’s not _that_ stupid.

It’s been a whole year since everything had gone to shit. With the Resonance Cascade and the aliens and all that mess. Black Mesa mess. Black Mess-a.

So Benrey does what is the most logical course of action here and hides in the attic with no intentions of coming back down for the whole week. And maybe a bit afterwards. Just to be absolutely safe.

His self-imposed exile of wallowing in misery, removing himself as the Unpleasant Presence from everyone else’s Shit Anniversary Week, and establishing mutual disinterest with the harvestmen that have long claimed all the coolest corners as their own, so anyway, his exile doesn’t last long. Maybe like two hours, and no, he hasn’t been checking. Totally hasn’t been counting down the hours from 7am (when he’d shut himself up here) to nighttime, when he could hopefully sneak back downstairs, because he forgot to bring his PSP and he’s already bored when he’s not busy being sad.

So anyway, his new career as an attic hermit is cut short. Can’t have shit in Feetman House.

It’s shouting, fucking _loud_ too, because he’s got his hearing turned up high. It fucking sucks to have it like that during the day, there’s so much _noise_ in the world, but he’s gotta compensate for being all the way up in the attic _somehow_. Going on a depression exile doesn’t mean he’s gonna stop watching over his-...his _people_. It’s his _job_ , after all, to _protect_. He can’t just _stop_ doing that.

The fact that it’s shouting immediately becomes secondary to the fact that it’s _Gordon_ shouting. Frantic, panicked, accompanied by footsteps running around in the house.

Benrey is on his feet before he could even think to formulate a plan, nails scrabbling against the floorboards before he noclips through and into the hallway below. His heartbeat is thundering in his ears, a real bad strategy to have one of those right now, and he shrieks Sweet Voice over it, mind screaming in danger.

_I’m coming, just hold on, I’m coming!_

He can hear Gordon running up the stairs already, so he skids to a halt at the top of them, fidgeting as he waits, not wanting to run opposite to him and knock him over. Everything in him is itching for the fight that’s no doubt about to come, red Sweet Voice (a threat, a cry for help) dripping from his chin.

“Benrey? Benrey!”

Gordon rounds the bend in the stairs, taking them two at a time. He seems unharmed, but his eyes are wide and panicked and his hair is a mess and he just _looks like shit_.

Benrey steps aside to clear space at the top of the stairs. His heartbeat is still loud, he’s still searching for danger, trying to _listen_. “Hey, wha-”

But Gordon doesn’t slow, almost knocking them both over, wrapping Benrey in a hug so tight it makes him glad he doesn’t actually have to breathe. And Benrey doesn’t hesitate to hug him back the same before his mind could even catch up. He knows how tight he can hold on, how much doesn’t hurt or harm. He’s had so much practice by now.

(And Gordon gives the best hugs. Over the past months, eight or so of them, Benrey’s been gaining _so much_ hug experience, but Gordon’s ones are still the best. It’s like he was made for hugging people.

But then again, in return he likes saying how nice Benrey is to hug. Like he was made to be held. With how warm and insistent and okay, fair, _short_ he is, with how easily he makes himself cosy in Gordon’s arms every time.)

Gordon is shaking.

He’s shaking, and breathing hard and stuttery, and one of his hands is clutching the back of Benrey’s hoodie, the other on the back of his head, knocking his hat loose and tangling into hair that’s grown out significantly since summer, there to just _keep him close_. The alarms still blare in Benrey’s head, but Gordon doesn’t seem to be running anymore, at least, so he hopes that’s a good sign.

“Where did you go? What- where did you _go_?” he mumbles, frantic and out of breath. He sounds _pained_ , and that possibility only terrifies Benrey more.

“a-attic?” Benrey stammers, startled into responding straight, twisting his head to the side just enough that his words will make it out of Gordon’s shoulder.

Something in Gordon deflates. He’s still tense and shaking and holding on so, _so_ tight, but something in him lets go. He starts rocking from side to side, slowly, pulling Benrey with him, who lets it happen. Recognises it as a self-soothing.

What the _fuck_ could have possibly _happened_?

“Please, please don’t scare me like that...”

He’s still so out of breath, and it’s like he’s pleading, why is he _pleading._ Normally, Benrey loves the fact that he can feel it when someone talks if he puts his head against their chest. Especially when it’s Gordon. It’s a neat little feature.

But not this time. This time the words  _hurt_ .

And whatever Gordon is hoping for in response to that doesn’t come apparently, no shit, Benrey has no clue what to do – there doesn’t seem to be anything for him to fight, and that’s all he’s really good for, how can he  _protect_ when there’s nothing to  _fight_ , and what’s scared Gordon so much anyway, what did Benrey  _do_ , he didn’t  _mean to_ -

Because Gordon loosens his hold just ever so slightly and while Benrey has no clue what he should do, something inside of him screams that  _not fucking that_ . So he latches on tighter, hoping that Gordon will tell him if it’s too tight, and it works, because then Gordon is back to holding him  close again,  like he  _should_ , breathing in relief against the side of his head and that’s good, it’s good.

“I’m sorry, I just,” Gordon starts, and his hand that had been tangled in Benrey’s hair drops to his shoulder. Starts rubbing his thumb back and forth. Neither of them are sure who that one’s for more. “I’m just so, on edge, because of... _you know_. Yeah. And I,” he swallows, tenses back up again, and all Benrey can do is _listen_. “I couldn’t _find_ you, I didn’t know where, where you’d gone, and-”

Enough is enough, Benrey decides. He can connect and untangle the dots of this later. For now…

“man, you know i’d never abandon you like that. come on now,” he’s not good at being comforting, but he’s _trying_. He’s got that tone seared into his brain, the one that Gordon uses when Joshie is sad or hurt (or when _Benrey_ is sad or hurt and stubbornly, hysterically refusing every first attempt at comfort before he caves on the second, third try) and he tries to imitate that. He knows he fails, but he tries.

And above him, Gordon hiccups a little laugh, so something of it must be working.

“can’t get rid of best friend Benrey that easily, you know,” he adds, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit. In reality, Gordon could get rid of him very, very easily, if he wanted to. He just hasn’t yet. For some reason.

(Benrey is still working on accepting that that reason is “because he doesn’t want to,” but, like he said, he’s _working on_ _it_.)

But instead of thinking about that, he thinks about the little hum-laugh he gets in response to his words, or how warm and solid Gordon is against him, or this immense need to _protect_ that’s still refusing to ebb away from his chest, like lingering adrenaline. And he’s never been good with words, he’s already used so many of them today, look at that, and so he sings.

(A string of colours that hit Gordon in the chest on purpose, colours about warmth and home and safety and all of those being a two-way street.

Orange-pink-mahogany-orange. All important colours. A well-practiced tune.)

It’s a bit longer of just standing there in the hallway and holding each other, still rocking slowly, before Benrey feels safe letting Gordon go, knowing he’s calmer now, for real this time. Gordon bumps his forehead against the side of his head for a moment as he pulls back, in some sort of simple affection. His glasses are very obviously smudged when he looks down at Benrey properly.

Benrey gives him a lopsided grin, or a bad effort at one anyway. His work here is done, he reminds himself. Back to exile you go.

“i can uhh, go back to the attic now? attic time?” he offers. There’s _reasons_ he was up there. Those reasons are still relevant. “now that you, uhh, know i’m there? haunting all the funny boxes?”

The boxes aren’t actually funny and he’s gone through them a dozen times already, but Gordon doesn’t need to know that.

“I mean...if you, if you want to, then, sure?” he seems taken off guard by the offer. Awkward, but when is he not. Big nerd, put all skill points into Science. “’Cause, I mean, the lunch and movie night offer with the Coolattas still stands, if you change your mind. And Joshie is really excited about getting to sleepover with his uncles, so, I’m su-”

He’s cut off by Benrey shaking his head.

Benrey knows all of that already. He knows that this whole upcoming week is full of low-energy, bail-at-any-time-you-want plans for the sake of everyone’s mental health. Because everyone is affected and they all appreciate the company and the quiet support of spending time together with no obligations and getting to do something nice and chill and just _wait things out_. And of course Benrey’s been offered a place in that. Tommy had asked him without hesitation, like it was never even a possibility that Benrey would refuse.

Benrey refused.

He can’t believe he’s the only one seeing just how fucked up it is, to invite the monster that had made your life Hell to the sleepover where you try to cope with said Hell.

What’s so hard to piece together about that? Why does Gordon have to look so _disappointed_?

“come on, bro,” Benrey laughs, flat and _wrong_. “why’d, why’d you want me around right now, huh?”

“ _Because_ we-”

“nah. nah, you already forgetting, bro? growing old? Gordon, uhh, Gordon Forgetman?” at some point his eyes have found Gordon’s prosthetic, _still_ resting against Benrey’s arm after the hug, and now he can’t look away. He knows what the scar looks like, but he can still see and smell the blood if he just doesn’t rein in his mind fast enough. Still hears the screams, the thrashing, the deafening silence of the void he’d run away to afterwards.

The soul-crushing guilt is nothing new. It’s never really left.

“Benrey...”

Oh. There’s hands on his face now, tilting his head to look at Gordon proper, tucking back the stubborn bits of his hair that had started curling in towards his cheeks the moment they got long enough to do so. The hands stay, and Benrey can’t stop himself from leaning just a little bit into the flesh and blood one. Warm and soft.

Gordon is looking at him with an intensity that Benrey wishes he didn’t know so well, not as something that can be directed at _him_ , because it’s always followed by things he doesn’t know how to process. Words and feelings and Gordon being a dumbass, putting his heart in places he shouldn’t.

(Making Benrey’s job harder at trying to keep it safe.)

They’ve danced this same dance before, many, many times. Gordon refuses to grow tired of it. Benrey wishes he did.

(He doesn’t.

He thinks maybe he’d break if he did.)

“Benrey, it’s, it’s been a _year_. We’ve all changed. And that includes _you_ ,” he brushes his thumb under one of Benrey’s eyes, and almost as if in response, another few open higher up on his face. Gordon doesn’t even falter. “I _know_ it does.

“Whatever had control of you back then, I still don’t fully understand it, but whatever had control of you then doesn’t anymore. You’re your own person now. You’re my...my _friend_. And I trust you, and I’ll say that and all of this again as many fucking times as you need me to. I _will_. Don’t test me.”

He laughs a little bit into that, and then sighs, but it’s not because he’s mad at Benrey. Even with all the bad thoughts in his head, Benrey _knows_ that.

“It’s been a year, and this is a real shit anniversary, and healing, it, it doesn’t really _end_ and holy shit there’s just, _so much_ shit to work on still, but. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t get to be with us, if you want. I love you, and so does Joshie, and so does the rest of the extended Science Team. _Because it’s been a year_ , and there’s been so much more to it than just _resentment_.

“You’ve made progress. So have I. So has _everyone else_. The Benrey I know now isn’t the same as when I met him. The Benrey I know now eats deep frozen food without defrosting it and lets my son talk his ear off about cowboy movies, and he steals my shirts, not...not my _arm_.

“So yes, I _want_ you around now. Just like I do all the other days of the year. Because you’re my friend, and you comfort me, not scare me. And I, I don’t want you to have to suffer alone either.

There’s a moment of silence, Benrey’s dozen eyes blinking, before Gordon goes redder than he already was (from all the running around and emotions and then _more emotions_ ) and his gaze flickers away. “That was, yeah, that, uhh. Sorry. A, uhh, a lot.”

He tries to pull his hands away and step back, but Benrey grabs one of his wrists to keep him there. He doesn’t meet Gordon’s eyes with any of his, but he gnaws on his bottom lip, purple gathering at the corner of his mouth. Processing.

“I meant it, though,” Gordon adds into the silence. Quiet and sincere.

There’s more silence, but Gordon seems content to wait. He doesn’t make to pull away again at least, and then he starts idly messing with the hair on one side of Benrey’s face, and _holy fuck_ is that distracting. And nice. More of that, please, please and thank you?

In the end, Benrey huffs a small laugh. A little shaky. Overwhelmed. His teeth are stained in so many colours.

“that’s, uhh, that’s a little gay, bro.”

And Gordon laughs at that, sudden and sweet and _giddy_ , and pulls Benrey into another hug. Gentler this time. All the affection without any of the panic. Benrey’s hat finally gives in completely and tumbles to the ground and he doesn’t even notice.

He can feel it against his chest and his cheek when Gordon laughs.

“That’s the Benrey I know and love.”

  
  


6.

With the last embers of the campfire slowly going out, most of the light is provided by the fairy lights hung up on the patio, and behind it, the lights still on in the kitchen of the Coolatta house. They’ll be off soon enough, but for now, it is nice to be able to see for certain losers who don’t just have night vision installed. Humans are so impractical.

Benrey’s eyes glow in the dark, and it’s really neat-looking when the rest of him blends into the shadows so well. Or at least he hopes it looks neat. He can’t see himself from the outside (3rd person view blocked on the server, apparently). He’s gonna have to ask someone for reviews. Or pictures.

They change the intensity of their glow on their own accord though, which not everyone seems to be aware of. He can tell they’re lighting up big time when he glances at Gordon, fucking traitors, and Gordon complains about being suddenly blinded and tries to throw a bundled-up picnic blanket at him. Instead of putting them on the ground like he should be. So bad at tasks.

Benrey reaches down to pick up the blanket and show this dumbass how it’s done and- _oh shit Tommy is levitating chairs_.

A whole stack of them, all the ones they had placed around the campfire for cooking dinner and accidentally sacrificing so many onions to the ashes. Blanket forgotten, Benrey books it towards Tommy so fast he almost eats shit, bare feet on grass.

“Tommy, bro, you gotta, you gotta let me on that, man!”

Tommy stops, puts down the chairs, and turns to politely acknowledge him, only to grin like a middle schooler upon discovering a very promising mud puddle when what Benrey is saying settles in. No words needed to know he’s on board. Because Tommy is a bro and Benrey can always count on him, even (or especially?) when it comes to _standing on a stack of chairs and seeing if he can stay on while_ _Tommy_ _levitate_ _s them_ _towards the patio_.

Benrey pointedly ignores Gordon trying to use his Disappointed Dad Voice on him as he wobbles on top of his Brand New Wondrous Tower of Floating. Tommy’s got his hands out in front of him, moving the chairs slowly and keeping them balanced to the best of his ability. The chairs, however, do _not_ like staying balanced.

A few wobbles here, Tommy overbalancing there, a too wide swing of one of Benrey’s arms, and-

“motherfuck!”

Benrey makes closer acquaintance with the grass.

He sings a slide whistle tune of Sweet Voice to convey his feelings, but the end of it is drowned out by Bubby yelling in delight somewhere in the direction of the patio, followed by rapid footsteps. Tommy is very clearly having trouble holding back laughter somewhere above Benrey.

“My turn!” Bubby screams, and proceeds to almost trample Benrey on his way to the currently resting chair tower. He’s out of reach too fast before Benrey could grab his ankle and drag him down.

“Guys, _please_...”

Oh, right, Gordon’s still around. So bad at blankets.

Bubby stops short of climbing up the chair tower and throws his head back with a groan. Benrey joins him for the duration of a few more slide whistles, making no move to get up off the ground.

“It’s, it’s okay, Gordon,” Tommy grins, patting the arm of the topmost chair. “This is all OSHA compliant! I promise!”

Gordon gives up on shaking loose grass from the blanket in his hand and instead folds it over his arm for the time being. “I’m...that’s lovely, Tommy. But I’d rather you guys didn’t do things like that when Joshie might see, you know?”

Benrey bites off a slide whistle so fast he coughs. He doesn’t even have lungs. God damn it.

The little dude is inside, got tasked with fetching pillows with Coomer while Darnold and Gman sort out the dishes, but he _could_ show up any minute now. And kids are curious, and fragile, and want to do everything that looks fun and bad for their health. Benrey is, of course, very familiar with these facts. Godmode and an overall disregard for one’s own pain be damned, living with a kid for so long tends to leave you with some lessons.

“You’re no fun,” Bubby huffs, but there’s no bite to it. Conversation apparently over, he picks up the chairs and makes for the patio with them even as Tommy sputters and trots after him, visibly shocked by being robbed of his chair stack.

Sunkist noclips out of the house once they’re both up on the patio and promptly knocks Bubby over.

“Hey, Benrey,” Gordon’s voice shakes him from watching Bubby trying to fight the onslaught of puppy kisses he’s receiving to his face.

He looks at Gordon, standing with a blanket draped over his arm still, looking all soft in a hoodie and flannel pants and bathed in the light coming from the house, and then he has to flick his eyes away instantly, because he can tell how strong they’re glowing again.

“Help me with the blankets?” he tilts his head a little bit in question, Benrey can see that even while staring beside him.

“uhh, yeah, sure,” his feet only slip a little bit as he scrambles up from the grass. He pulls his hat off his head and runs a hand through his hair before he tugs it back on, fixing the damage from his fall.

He swallows back whatever wild-berry-mix flavoured Sweet Voice it is that he’s got rising in his throat.

“Feetman can’t even blankets right,” he says as he takes two corners of the blanket and helps Gordon shake it out before they lay it down.

Gordon laughs. “It’s a two-player game, man!”

“maybe for you. got no skills.”

He makes the mistake of looking directly at Gordon when he’s offered half of the second blanket, and Gordon shields his eyes, but he laughs again. “You’re like a rogue flashlight.”

It’s not the first time he’s said that, or things similar to it, or things _not at all similar_ but still there in spirit, but Benrey doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how much he makes it sound like something different. Something softer and warmer that makes Benrey’s heart do weird things that had once upon a time made him think he’d fucked up manifesting his own organs.

(There’s no way Gordon’s figured out the eye thing on his own, right?)

“yeah, whatever, man. bbbbb.”

They’re laying down the fourth and last blanket by the time the patio door opens, interrupting Tommy and Bubby’s purely theoretical discussion on the unique challenges of operating a Chuck E. Cheese on the Moon. The lights in the windows flicker off as Darnold exits last, and Tommy takes care of all but one string of fairy lights, leaving the one over the door on.

Benrey flops face down onto the blanket right at his feet so that he doesn’t have to process the sight of Gman, wearing a knitted sweater and pyjama pants, trailing after Joshie with his arms full of pillows picked out by the little dude, looking every bit like an awkward, attentive great-uncle. Which Benrey supposes he is. Which is why he’s lying on the ground now, stubbornly unmoving as Gordon nudges his side with his foot.

It’s been a _year_ , but seeing Gman gladly partaking in family events and wearing something that isn’t a suit and _making no moves to banish Benrey into the cold emptiness of space forever_? Yeah, some things just never lose their novelty.

He looks up when he hears a short whistle from above him, and finds Joshie standing near his head, grinning as he hands him a pillow.

(Upon closer inspection, Benrey discovers that it’s one of the tacky, embroidered ones he’s seen on the couch before. The writing on it, in letters definitely not comprehensible to the human mind, says “Missing textures clash with the wallpaper!” which is both Gman’s unique equivalent of Live Love Laugh style bullshit and very pointedly directed at Benrey.)

Benrey grins back and takes the pillow without even considering sitting up for it. “thanks, Tuesday.”

Which is absolutely not the kid’s name. Except it is. Who’s to say when he listens to it?

It’s not Benrey’s fault that ages ago Joshie had challenged him to guess his middle name, only telling him the first letter. It’s also not Benrey’s fault that his immediate reaction was to call him _Tuesday_. And it’s _definitely_ not Benrey’s fault that Joshie liked it so much he told him he got it right, and so Benrey decided to keep the bit running and call him that every once in a while, and Gordon is powerless to stop either of them.

Of course he knows Joshie’s real (boring) middle name now. That doesn’t mean he’s gonna use it. Or even care about it.

Joshie loves it. Benrey also loves it. Gordon hates it. It’s the perfect arrangement.

Joshie – Tuesday – seems satisfied with that interaction, and moves on to distribute pillows to everyone else who doesn’t have one yet, shadowed by his terrifying, interdimensional, very helpful great-uncle.

Benrey decides to move from his current position after Bubby kicks him, and then he grabs Bubby’s ankle, and then Bubby falls on him and takes Darnold down with him and thus creates a flailing, shriek-laughing pile of limbs and barely contained swearwords in the presence of a child. He sees Gordon settle himself far away from that commotion, so what is there for Benrey to do, really, besides follow him and maybe bring the commotion _to him_? Or just bring _himself_. He’s calling dibs on Gordon Cuddles and Bubby can eat shit about it.

He drops his pillow down next to Gordon and lies on his left, pressing into his side like it’s second nature. Warm and solid and almost makes up for otherwise lying on the ground.

( _Almost_ , because he can also get Gordon Cuddles _without_ the “lying on the ground” part, just not right now. But those are preferable. Because ground.)

His head may or may not end up closer to Gordon’s shoulder than his own pillow.

“What, are you trying to steal my pillow or something?” he laughs, and Benrey can feel it against his side. It’s familiar. “That’s illegal, you know.”

Benrey just shoves his head against his in retaliation, and Gordon only laughs more, even as his glasses get weird and he has to reach up to fix them. Benrey grabs his misplaced pillow and tucks it under his head properly, if only to stave off any more accusations of illegal activity. Scandalous. Him, of all kind-of-people!

There aren’t that many falling stars yet, but according to Tommy and also the internet, they should get more frequent soon. Until then, they’re content to watch the stars themselves, flickering lazily but otherwise deceptively static despite the large saturation of scientists on the grass who’d _love_ to give lectures about how and why they _aren’t_.

Luckily for them, the Coolatta house doesn’t much care that it is supposedly located in a sleepy suburban neighbourhood when its inhabitants would like to stargaze, and it grants them with perfect, light-pollution-free skies.

“Ursa Major (also known as the Great Bear) is a constellation in the northern sky, whose associated mythology likely dates back into prehistory. Its Latin name...”

Coomer’s voice drones on, familiar and so enthused under the level tone he uses when reciting Wikipedia articles. He talks about one constellation after the other and names them when they’re pointed out to him, and then talks about starmaps and telescopes and navigation as he’s asked again and again. Bubby seems to know exactly when each paragraph break is, and times his commentary accordingly, a lot less playful-mean than usual. Having been to an alien maybe-planet once already has done little to curb his love for space.

The first falling star they catch sight of is greeted with a chorus of “ _oh!_ ”s and “ _there!_ ”s and a particularly loud yell from Bubby.

Joshie decides to abandon his spot in Coomer’s immediate vicinity after the first falling star and pads over to Benrey and Gordon with his pillow under one arm. He places it down with a serious expression next to Benrey’s and then lies down, and without hesitation Benrey wraps an arm around him to tuck him into his side properly, putting the pillow out of a job. Tough luck.

“hey, did you make a wish?” Benrey asks, whispering, because it feels appropriate to whisper something like that. He tilts his head to look at Joshie, to see what he signs or nods back, but he doesn’t stare right at him. He’s trying to be mindful of his eyes and how much they can glow.

Joshie nods, big, happy nods only kids can do really well.

Benrey pats his arm a little bit in approval. “good. it’s a rare drop chance, y’know. gotta make the best of it.”

Benrey makes wishes too, though they aren’t _real_ wishes, he supposes. They’re small and joking, like he’s playing along for the sake of the tradition even if no one can call him out on it. He asks for random things like a big vein of diamonds in Minecraft the next time he plays, or lots of chocolate chips in his ice cream the next time he has a flavour that has them, or for his fuzzy socks to keep their texture even after they go through the washing a dozen times.

He’s a lot more interested in just watching and listening. Watching the stars, listening to the world around him. The noises of awe and excitement every time they catch sight of another falling star, from Coomer’s cheering and Gman’s approving hums to Joshie’s excited clapping and Darnold’s laughter when Tommy grabs his hand in excitement. The noises of Sunkist patrolling the garden around them, not interested in stars much herself, and of Bubby trying to get Tommy to tell him what he’d wished for only because of how worked up Tommy gets telling him the rules of falling star wishes all over again. Crickets, and traffic that sounds farther away than it is, and Gordon’s even, calm breaths right next to him.

And then he catches sight of Joshie happy flapping when another two stars streak across the sky, and he can feel Gordon’s leg bumping into his as he shifts a little bit, and for a moment, he has no joke wishes to give. For a moment, all that he can ask for is this, forever, please and thank you.

Time passes like that. Watching the stars, maybe the stars watching them back. Benrey lying silent and staring relentlessly as he’s surrounded by noise he can lose himself in in the good way.

Gordon’s shoulder presses a little more into his.

“Hey.”

Benrey hums back, eyes on the sky even when he can tell Gordon is looking at him.

“Are you...homesick?”

He sounds worried.

Benrey turns his head to look at him, and this time he forgets to look away, forgets just how badly his eyes must be glowing, looking at Gordon from so close. He just stares for a long moment, content to do so, and Gordon stares back even if he has to squint for it.

Somewhere on the blanket, Tommy is laughing because Sunkist stepped on him on accident. Gman speaks, slow and measured as always, asking Coomer for information on something, and Coomer happily starts reciting another article. From the sounds of amazement, Darnold is learning something new from it, too.

Gordon’s eyes flick between his, too close to look into both (and then all, because Benrey blinks open an extra few before he could stop himself, and Gordon doesn’t even flinch). Benrey can feel him breathing against his right side and Joshie against his left.

After another moment, he smiles, easy and comfortable, eyes glowing like headlights, before he turns his head to stare up at the sky again.

“nah. i’m good.”

  
  


+1

“Benrey, no-”

_Benrey yes._

Gordon has absolutely no power over him as Benrey grins up at him from the pile of fallen leaves that Gordon had _just_ finished raking together. Benrey had waited for the exact moment he was done with that to jump in, because he’s smart. Tactical. Doesn’t wanna get accidentally smacked with a rake _again_.

His victory is rather short-lived as something small but heavy and _wriggling_ falls on his back, and even without any lungs to lose air from, that’s enough of a shock to knock the grin off his face. He can practically feel the smugness radiating off of Gordon. _He_ definitely saw that coming and said nothing. Traitor.

“oh nooooo...” Benrey whisper-shouts in a flat tone, a horrible impression of a vanquished monster, as two small hands tug at the back of his coat. “Tuesday, how could you...”

Then the small hands on his back disappear and instead return by _dumping a handful of cold, wet leaves on his head_.

Okay. Benrey sees how it is. He can live with this, but then so will everyone else, god damn it.

He roars, not a real roar but a fake funny one for playing the big scary monster for his... _whatever_ Joshie is to him, and it’s all orange anyway. Orange as in laughter. The good stuff. So he roars orange and twists until he rolls Joshie off of him and into the leaf pile, and then he grabs him and rolls more, into wet grass and mud and stray leaves that stick in his hair. Joshie laughs in his small, breathy wheezes as he’s grabbed and rolled and lifted, flailing to try and fight back.

“Come on, guys, I _just_ finished this one...”

Neither of them listen to Gordon as the wrestling turns into a high speed chase once Benrey sets Joshie on his feet and gives him a little shove. Benrey himself takes his sweet time getting up to give the kid a headstart, and by the time he’s on his feet, Joshie is hiding behind another leaf pile. The Master Leaf Pile. The one where all the others end up.

They probably shouldn’t ruin that one too much, so when Benrey inevitably catches up and grabs a squirming, whistling Joshie (he’s the only kid he’s ever heard whistling while he’s playing, and Gordon insists he’s learned it from Benrey, but that can’t be right), he opts to throw him over his shoulder with some flavour text commentary about his doom in order to protect the leaves.

Gordon watches them with one hand holding up the rake, the ruined pile of leaves by his feet and this open, warm smile on his face that makes Benrey feel a little bit like he’s staring directly into a lamp. Or the Sun. That’s a nicer comparison, probably.

Benrey carries Joshie over like a rather animated sack of potatoes, grip secure no matter how much he moves around. He sets him back on his feet next to the fucked up leaf pile.

“Again?” Joshie signs, bouncing a little bit. Ready to take off on another round of chasing.

“nah, Benrey’s gotta, uhh. grind leaf levels now. sorry,” he gives an apologetic little smile, then turns to Gordon, hands reaching out for the rake. Grabby hands, just for how they always seem to amuse them both. “c’mon Feetman, switcharoo. give.”

Benrey is great at ruining leaf piles and being in the way, and also at being very loud and fun and distracted by Joshie. But contrary to the most common assumptions, he’s _also_ very good at raking leaves. He’s on the leaderboard and everything. Pro strats. High score. Feetman could never even dream of comparing.

Plus, raking leaves is fun.

Benrey knows what that sounds like. Chores, ew, right? Well, some chores less ew than others. Chores have nuance. Layers. Ogre chores. Does Shrek do chores?

He’s getting distracted.

Raking leaves is fun because it involves many little things that are everywhere ending up not everywhere in neat piles. Organisation, fuck yeah. Very visible progress. It’s like one of those videos about people fixing paintings.

There’s also the fact that he’s not doing it alone. Well, in a way maybe he _is_ if he’s the one doing it, because they only have one rake. But Joshie plays with the leaves and runs around and shows him cool sticks he finds. And then runs around more when Benrey chases him and then Joshie plays with _him_ instead of the leaves. And Gordon either watches them or joins in, and he cracks jokes with Benrey and goes all Dad Mode on Joshie like he isn’t _already_ always doing that, and sometimes he’ll pick Benrey up to move him out of the way if Benrey gets strategic enough about it.

Autumn is cold and wet and a little sad. But it’s also weirdly cosy and very, very colourful once the trees get the memo about it, and it’s the first time in the part of his life that he can remember that Benrey gets to really _watch_ as it happens.

Autumn leaves are orange, and orange is the colour of laughter, and Benrey finds that to be very appropriate.

“Okay, man,” Gordon does that sigh-laugh that he does when he’s a little cross and very fond and not actually mad at all. “Your coat’s going in the washing after this, you look like you got ran over by a greenhouse.”

Benrey twists to look at him, arms and rake stilling. “yo, you flirting with me or something?”

Gordon laughs, always surprised when Benrey pulls cards like that, no matter how long it’s been. Loser. Easy target.

He steps closer. “Shut up, you-...you’ve even got leaves in your _hair_ , how did you _do_ that?”

With that he steps behind Benrey and starts brushing off his back which has apparently sustained the most damage from him rolling around on the ground. Not like flicking mud off his back will do anything if they’re doing laundry after this anyway, but who is he to stop a homie if he wants to get pointlessly touchy a little bit.

“the leaves were Feetman 2. he put them there,” he informs as Gordon absently picks a few of them out of his hair. “all of them.”

“Hm. I’m sure,” he sidesteps to come into Benrey’s view again, spinning a leaf idly in his hand. “Absolutely nothing to do with you becoming one with nature then?”

“nah, already maxed that skill tree ages ago,” he says it like it’s obvious, and then remembers that he’s also supposed to be raking, so he gets back to that. “that was all the stuff with the, uhh. earthworms. and the slugs.”

Gordon laughs. “What, grinding EXP by putting slugs in your mouth? Is that the new meta?”

“yeah, of course, dude,” he shakes some stubborn leaves off the rake above the pile. Some of them are more stubborn than him and stay on. “pro strats. I understand earthworm, uhh, earthworm politics now.”

It doesn’t take long after that for the garden to be clean again. Gordon follows Benrey around as he explains earthworm politics to him (which he makes up on the spot, but shh) and occasionally makes to grab the rake from him to change shifts again. Benrey dodges and doesn’t let him, because he’s having fun and because listening to Gordon is seldom in his moveset, which Joshie finds especially hilarious.

It gets tentatively less hilarious when Benrey accidentally smacks himself in the face with the rake handle and starts howling in exaggerated pain until Gordon kisses it better for him. And then Joshie insists on being picked up so that he can _also_ kiss it better for Benrey, just in case, and to hand him a really pretty leaf as consolation.

The gathered leaves get left behind in one big pile for now because Gordon declares that everyone is too muddy to keep doing garden work today and also he doesn’t want them staying out for too long in chilly-wet weather. Benrey in response _also_ makes a declaration and it’s that Gordon is a coward, because he isn’t muddy like the rest of them.

Gordon bolts inside with a steadily rising “ _no no no no no-_ ” before Benrey’s evil little hands could drag him onto the ground and show him how it’s done. Benrey cackles. Joshie runs inside after his dad when Benrey makes exaggerated grabby hands at him.

Their coats and pants end up in laundry immediately, shoes left on an old rag by the door to dry and be cleaned later. The whole house buzzes pleasantly when Gordon turns up the heating, and Benrey finds it appropriate to don flannel pants that he needs to roll up over the ankles because they’re technically Gordon’s.

“Stop moving!” Gordon says, half-laughing, tugging on Benrey’s hair a little bit as punctuation.

“bbbbb.”

“Yeah, yeah, you keep telling yourself that.”

He goes back to brushing most of the leaves and dirt out of Benrey’s hair. Which, to be fair, Benrey _could_ also do himself. But _why_ would he do that, when he can also pester Gordon into doing it for him? It’s nice. Really nice. Just sitting on the edge of the bathtub and getting his hair brushed (and it’s still not as long as it once was, but he’ll get there eventually). Watching out of the corner of his eye as Joshie, sitting on the fuzzy bathroom carpet in fresh, warm clothes, explains the day’s events to one of his dino plushies.

Benrey thinks it’s really nice of all of Joshie’s toys to have learned sign along with him.

“Alright, you’re done,” Gordon pulls the brush through his hair one last time before ruffling the whole mess. “You still need to wash it though.”

“i know, I know,” he stands and grabs his hoodie from the edge of the sink. He loves his shirt (it’s got some cartoon mole on it that he knows nothing about and he thinks that’s great), but it’s _cold_. “hot chocolate first though. then, uhh, dibs on the shower.”

He also sings a line of red to blue (means _thank you_ ) once he’s done talking, because it’s only polite. Good thing Gordon speaks a lot of Sweet Voice now. Makes things easier.

“I see you’ve got your priorities straight.”

Benrey’s offended gasp comes out so well it has Gordon sitting back down on the edge of the tub from laughing so hard.

Everything else goes by with the same sense of warmth and familiarity that’s just _normal_ now. Joshie races towards the kitchen, followed by Gordon’s warnings to _please_ don’t run so fast, and also by Benrey himself. He scoops Joshie up, tucks him under one arm and marches into the kitchen victorious.

The washing machine clatters away in the background, drowned out when Gordon starts humming while he makes hot chocolate. Benrey eyes the container of cinnamon with distrust that he’s never fully going to shed after the _one time_ he decided to try it by the spoonful. Joshie leaves his dino plushie on the table and makes grabby hands at the bubbles of Sweet Voice that Benrey sings once he recognises what song Gordon’s got stuck in his head this time.

Over his hot chocolate, Joshie requests board games for when Benrey is done with his shower.

“Yeah? Which one?”

Apparently the answer is important enough to warrant Joshie tugging forth his TTS tablet from where his dino plushie has been guarding it by sitting on it.

“CHECKERS!”

Benrey beeps a startled note of Sweet Voice almost directly into his hot chocolate, and waves it away quickly. He doesn’t wanna ruin the taste.

Checkers is good. It’s also pretty much nothing like real _boring_ checkers at this point, with how many rules they’ve tacked on to it over time. Some of them are completely at Joshie’s whim and change every time they play. Others _also_ change every time they play, but it’s because of Gordon and Benrey trying to kick each other’s asses over their drawn-out, overcomplicated games. Constantly making up rules to counter the other’s. At some point Gordon had dubbed their matches to be more similar to D&D than traditional checkers.

“alright, little man,” Benrey grins, and takes a meaningful sip of his hot chocolate. “you’re on.”

  
  


(Later, Benrey wrings his hair dry after his shower, already knowing that Gordon will make a fuss about him not blowdrying it when it’s cold outside. He still opts for only draping a dry towel over his shoulders to keep his hoodie from getting wet, but decides that if Gordon is cute enough about it, he’ll let himself be convinced to tolerate the hairdrier.

He wrings his hair and he thinks. About checkers and the cookies in the kitchen he wants to snag a few more of and how many pairs of fuzzy socks are out of the washing right now.

About how he wishes that he could tell his self from a year ago about this. About autumn leaves that _do_ really look like that every year, and board games modified beyond recognition, about shampoo he spent half an hour picking out based on scent alone as Gordon waited, and about how you should always check the pockets of clothes before you put them in the washing machine.

About small things and big ones, but most importantly that, against all odds, things like family and a future do exist. And that, _against all odds_ , one day, he’ll get to call them his.)

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> EDIT: Now with [art by Dima](https://22ratonthestreet.tumblr.com/post/638488189468901376/hey-so-like-what-about-katas-new-fic-haha-what)! <3 Bc they're intent on destroying me I guess
> 
> The eye glowing hc in the summer scene is specifically from [this fic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27179656) by Dima that I just couldn't get out of my head ever since I first read it.
> 
> (The "cartoon mole Benrey knows nothing about" that's on his shirt is [Krtek](https://i.pinimg.com/originals/cf/d5/97/cfd597959d6414677666e2133953269e.png). Bc I grew up on stuff like Krtek and Bob a Bobek and Vízipók-csodapók and I now impose that upon Benrey and his love for "obscure" media.)
> 
> [Dima's art tumblr](https://22ratonthestreet.tumblr.com/) | [my main tumblr](pristine-starlight.tumblr.com/) | [my art tumblr](crowned-ladybug.tumblr.com/)


End file.
